Two Colleagues

Indifference and Hate were walking down the street one day and passed an old man.

He was huddled against the wall trying to shield his body from a cold wind that blew the trash of the street into the air in a mini vortex of dirt, wrappers and bits of debris. The wind blew with such force a piece of dirt caught Hate right in the eye and he cursed the wind and the day and turned back to the old man and kicked him.

Indifference watched this and wondered to him self but said nothing. They continued their journey down the street and had to sidestep a pool of blood that was forming in the recess of the pavement from a body ripped and riddled with bullets that had come from a car now speeding away, tires screeching. Laughter, harsh and cruel floated back on the wind delighting the ears of Hate.

They finally reached their destination, a small café and sat in a booth next to a window that looked out on the street. Their meal ordered, Indifference looked at Hate for a full minute, wondering if it was worth bothering bringing up the subject but finally said to his companion, “Back there, when the dirt flew into your eye, why did you kick the old man?”

Hate was busy pounding on the window, shooing away a small child who had its face pressed against the glass, eyeing the two large plates of food the waitress had just delivered. “Out of here with your filthy self, bones sticking out and eyes hollow – you are ruining my appetite!”

Indifference spooned food into his mouth, watching the child reluctantly turn and walk away with its head down and noticed tears dripping onto the child’s bare feet causing the dirt to streak.

Satisfied, Hate started devouring his plate of food and said with a mouthful, “Why did I kick him … the old man? Well that’s what I hate about you my comrade. You care so little, the most obvious escapes you! Had he not been cowered in that spot, the wind would not have been blocked and the debris that ended up assaulting me could have blown cleanly past.”

“Humpf,” replied Indifference, bored with the discussion.

“And I suppose,” continued Hate, that you wonder at my delight in the laughter of the killer who gunned down the person as they stood in front of their house?”

“No, not really,” replied Indifference trying to get the eye of the waitress so he could order desert.

“It was the sound of pure, unadulterated hate, a sound I have not heard since my own father sang it to me as a lullaby. It was as pure as any melodious malicious insult hurled at a random recipient. It was perfection.” Hate’s face was contorted and froth formed at his lips as he relived the moment they had witnessed.

“Ah, well, it’s getting late,” claimed Indifference all too ready to rid himself of the draining company of his mate. He was exhausted by the display of emotion and wanted only to return to the recesses of his comfortable home. He donned his hat and coat and turned back to say a final farewell but found Hate was already involved in berating the waitress for her poor service and scoffing at her meager status in life.

Hate noticed him leaving and called after him, “Same time tomorrow then?”

"I suppose so,” mumbled Indifference. ‘I suppose so.”